


Concilliabule

by Oilan



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:15:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1929798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oilan/pseuds/Oilan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Concilliabule - A secret meeting of people who are hatching a plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concilliabule

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for [this](http://squirreltastic.tumblr.com/post/32985585556/send-me-a-word-and-a-character-series-pairing-and-i) list of prompts.

“No, no. That would be incredibly difficult. How do you expect to accomplish the task in that manner?”

Feuilly, gathering his notes into an organized stack at the end of the day, paused as Combeferre’s hushed voice drifted towards him. He looked over his shoulder to see Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac standing close together in the corner of the Musain’s back room. Combeferre was still speaking.

“This plan needs to be arranged with as little fuss and extraneous detail as possible, or it simply will not work. Remember, the problems we are currently facing are of a different sort than what we are accustomed to dealing with! A single slip-up could cost us everything.”

Trepidation curled in Feuilly’s chest as he tried to return to organizing his papers. He could not fathom the kind of situation the other three were attempting to solve, but from the sound of it, the circumstances were incredibly serious. He cast another glance over his shoulder and was taken aback by the severity of Enjolras’ expression as he spoke.

“Before we execute _any_ portion of the plan, we need to determine who among us is trustworthy enough to be given the information at hand. Courfeyrac, I believe you have carried out similar plans in the past. I will defer to you.”

Feuilly saw Courfeyrac frown thoughtfully; he looked more strained than Feuilly had ever seen him, and this troubled him nearly as much as the grave tone of the entire conversation. After a moment, Courfeyrac said, “Ah… _similar_ plans, yes. Never one quite as tricky as _this_ one, however. This particular scenario involves a great deal more secrecy, and scores more delicacy – _yes_ , Combeferre, yes! _Delicacy_ , I agree with you! In this case, the lieutenants should know – _all_ of them, aside from the obvious exception – and as quickly as possible. We only have a week to bring this about, and we will need help. _Do not fret, you two!_ In a week, we will have-“

“ _Hush!_ ” Combeferre hissed so sharply that Courfeyrac started; he was looking over to where Feuilly stood. Enjolras and Courfeyrac turned toward him as well, and Feuilly felt his face grow warm. They had evidently been too caught up in their discussion to notice that the room had not emptied after the meeting and Feuilly himself had been too troubled by the snippets of conversation he had overheard to realize that he was very obviously eavesdropping.

He stepped forward, not knowing quite what to say but wanting to be of some use. Courfeyrac had said that all of the lieutenants should be privy to the apparently desperate situation. Surely _now_ would be the most opportune moment to relate the information to Feuilly, as he was the only other person in the room. However, the other three did not say a word. Instead, Combeferre and Courfeyrac both glanced at Enjolras as if they were unsure of how best to proceed.

Enjolras gazed at Feuilly for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. When he at last spoke, all he said was, “Feuilly, good evening. You are returning to your rooms?”

“Ah… yes. I… I was just leaving now.” Feuilly hesitated once more, but the others simply stood there looking at him. Disquieted, he finished gathering the rest of his belongings as quickly as he could, placing his notes in his satchel and winding his scarf around his neck. “Well then. Good night, you three.”

Enjolras’ smile was rather grim. “Have a good night as well.”

Feuilly took a deep breath once he was outside the Musain. The mid-January air was cold and crisp, and a flurry of snow was just beginning to fall. Feuilly pulled his cap lower to shield his face and hurried along in the direction of his tenement.

The uneasiness he had felt upon first hearing Combeferre’s warnings about discretion was now intermingled with another concern. _All of the lieutenants should know as quickly as possible._ Surely, _surely_ that meant he should be included in the implementation of this plan? _All of the lieutenants should know, aside from the obvious exception._ The obvious exception. Did that mean him? Was _he_ the obvious exception?

 _No._ He pushed this thought away. _No._ This was a serious business in which they all were involved, and though it was true that he had been a part of this group – this _student_ group – for just shy of a year, he had a firm place amongst them. He had proven himself on many an occasion. There was no room to be peeved about something like this. Enjolras, time and time again, had demonstrated his skill in recognizing his friends’ talents and allocating tasks to those whose strengths were best suited for the job. This time was no different.

Still, the gravity of his friends’ quiet conference still nagged at him. What could possibly have happened? Did they have a spy amongst their ranks? Were their members being followed? Had the police placed a watch on their meeting places? Regardless, Feuilly was determined to be prepared for the worst. He was thoughtful and observant. He would be on the watch for anything out of the ordinary, and he would report it to Enjolras if he caught wind of anything suspicious. If he was vigilant, there would be no surprises.

 

* * *

 

Days passed and Feuilly was on his guard, though he tried not to show it. This was not difficult, as everything seemed to be completely normal. He noticed nothing unusual, nothing that would cause him concern or suspicion, aside from one instance where he had noticed Courfeyrac watching him idly. When Feuilly had caught his eye, Courfeyrac had only smiled serenely and turned back to his conversation with Bossuet. It was nothing. Feuilly quietly hoped the lack of any news or atypical occurrences meant that the problem had been resolved more quickly than Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac had anticipated. This was not to be. A full week after Feuilly had overheard the troubling conversation, the situation came to a head.

After a long day of work, Feuilly wearily trudged back to his housing; he did not have to work the next day and he was looking forward to staying up a bit later to read. However, he barely made it inside his room before spotting a folded note that had been slipped under the door. Upon unfolding the letter, he saw that it was written in Enjolras’ sharp cursive:

_Feuilly. Upon receiving this note, please report to the Cafe Musain immediately. Urgent business requires your presence before proceeding. –E_

Dread crept into Feuilly’s heart, but he ignored it and, stuffing the note into his pocket, bolted out the door again. Once outside, he forced himself to slow his pace and not sprint straight to the cafe; it would draw too much attention. He walked as briskly as possible, finally turning on the Rue des Gres and treading as carefully and quietly as possible up the stairs to the private entrance to the back room. He had not been followed. He tilted his head toward the door to listen before entering and heard only the clink of glasses, merry voices, and Bahorel’s booming laugh. Perplexed, Feuilly quietly pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Loud cheers erupted immediately and Feuilly was so stunned that all he could do for several long moments was stand in shock in the doorway. Courfeyrac, grinning ear to ear, pushed towards him and flung an arm around his shoulders.

“You’re finally here! We were worried you didn’t get Enjolras’ note. But no matter, now the party can really begin! Surprise, and happy birthday, my dear fellow! What would you like to do first? Have a glass of wine or move straight on to presents? I would pick the latter, personally, but it’s _your_ birthday.”

Feuilly finally found his voice. “But, it’s _not_ my birthday.”

“Well, it _may_ be! And even if you are not certain, there is no reason you should not have a birthday party anyway. And why not on this lovely late January evening? You told me a few months ago that although you didn’t know the _exact_ day you were born, you recalled that it was at the end of January, don’t you remember?”

Feuilly dimly recalled the conversation. He had been reading in the Corinthe on one of his precious days off. Courfeyrac, avoiding class and keeping him company, had been rather unsubtly fishing for information regarding his birth date. Feuilly had replied vaguely, although he supposed a vague answer was all he could give. He did not tell Courfeyrac of the sole memory of his childhood birthdays. Four years old, living with his mother and father in a small room, bitterly cold winter air leaking through the gaps in the floorboards. His parents had managed to procure a small pastry for him that year, and he remembered their tired, smiling faces as they presented him with the treat. They had died not long after that, but Feuilly had remembered that his birthday was in late January, and so that is what he had told Courfeyrac. He had not given much thought to his birthdays since that last small celebration, and yet here he was now, standing amongst happy friends, a warm fire crackling cheerfully and a pile of presents sitting on one of the tables. From the shape of them, most were books. So many books. Feuilly’s throat felt tight.

He was spared saying anything more for the moment by Combeferre, who had made his way over to them with Enjolras, pressing a glass of wine into his hands.

“Happy birthday! I hope you are enjoying yourself! You do not have work tomorrow, if I am correct? Courfeyrac exercised his skills in espionage to figure that out.”

Courfeyrac shook his head, the corners of his mouth curving upwards. “Feuilly, if I may give you some advice – never, _ever_ plan a surprise party with these two. They will take everything entirely too seriously and create mountains of undue stress for you. Enjolras will insist everything be perfect, Combeferre will lecture you on practicality, and both will give you the most displeased looks regardless! How am I supposed to function under these conditions?”

Feuilly found he was grinning broadly, both at Courfeyrac’s words and the frown Combeferre and Enjolras gave each other. “Undue stress! The three of you made me so uneasy after I overheard you last week, talking in such serious whispers about executing _plans_ and determining who was _trustworthy_ enough to know about it. I had thought we were all being spied on from the sound of it! And that is not even mentioning the note Enjolras left in my flat today.”

Enjolras frowned. “What was the matter with my note?”

“ _Well..._ ” Feuilly was chuckling. “The wording of it could have been a bit less… _dire_.” He took the note from his pocket. After reading it, Courfeyrac gave Enjolras a look of sheer disbelief.

“ _Enjolras_ , why on earth did you write it like this? We only wanted Feuilly to come to the Musain after work, not to be frightened half to death!”

Their subsequent bickering only made Feuilly smile more. Combeferre was regarding Enjolras and Courfeyrac with a mixture of fondness and exasperation.

“Well, after all the apparent worry we caused you, I do hope you have a pleasant birthday.”

Feuilly surveyed the warm room, full of joyful friends chatting and laughing. “Yes. I’m quite certain it will be the best I’ve had in many years.”


End file.
